What if
by sense the sarcasm
Summary: What if Harry's powers were not his own. And not only his powers, but his views and his ideals . . . what if they all came from Voldermort?
1. Notes

Oh – I know its been done too much. You don't need to tell me that. But, so what? Now its my turn!!

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Title:

Author: me3gogi

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E-mail: me3gogi@hotmail.com

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Rating: um, R? That should cover everything that might come up anywhere in this.

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Disclaimer: Any thing that u recognise will not belong to me, unless you recognise it as mine. Don't sue – no one does anyway – but I have less money than the Weasley's if you divide their immense wealth by 103. Have mercy upon a soul trying this kinda story for the first time. As I said, all things u recognise as original, however twisted I have made them, and however OC I have managed to make them with my lack of skill belong to J.K.R.

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Feedback: I wish I would get some once in a while. I admit that I write shit – and though I thank ppl who lie and say it was great – I appreciate the ppl who have the balls to say truthfully that its not. and I _love_ those ppl I never seem to meet that think that its worth reading and not all that shit. thanx everyone who reviews – or e-mails me.

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A/N: Forgive any OOC's, as I have not read any original HP since the forth book came out, like 4 years ago.

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Summary: What if? What if Harry was a squib? And the only reason that he had any magical powers was because of Voldermort. So – sure, Harry doesn't know this. But, if he has Voldermort's powers – he would also have some of his views too. So – would the House of Slytherine be _that_ bad after all?

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got

Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot

Wouldn't you like to get away?

All those nights when you've got no light

The check is in the mail

And your little angel

Hung the cat up by its tail

And your third fiancée didn't show

Sometimes you want to go, where everybody knows your name,

And they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows your name.

You roll out of bed

Mr Coffee's dead

The morning's looking bright

The morning's looking bright

And your shrink ran off to Europe

And didn't even write

And your husband wants to be a girl

Be glad there's one place in the world, where everyone knows your name

And they're always glad you came

You wanna go where people know, people are all the same,

You wanna go where everybody knows your name.

You want to go where people know, people are all the same;

You want to go where everybody knows your name.

Where everybody knows your name

Where everybody knows your name

And they're always glad you came

Where everybody knows your name

Where everybody knows your name

And they're always glad you came

Where everybody knows your name

Where everybody knows your name

And they're always glad you came

Where everybody knows your name

Where everybody knows your name

And they're always glad you came

Where Everbody Knows Your Name

Gary Portnoy and Judy Hart Angelo

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I need to pull my own ideas out of thin air now! **^I guess I don't count then do I?^** U'r right – u don't. **^Humph^**. Lol. Please read the next chapter, of which I will actually write something. My life is dependant upon it!


	2. Where boys are prodded and shouting beco...

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Title: Persona

Author: me3gogi

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E-mail: me3gogi@hotmail.com

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Rating: R?

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Disclaimer: As I said, it does not belong to me.

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Feedback: Please.

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Summary: This is all covered in the part b4 – go read that!

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A/N: Now, the only question is – does Harry stay with the Dursleys as it goes in the book, where he could wreak havoc, or is he left on the streets, or does he go to an orphanage, or do they leave him on someone else's doorstep? Ooh, the possibilities are endless! **^Well.^** Yes?

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^Well, he could . . . ::whispering::^ ::agreeable:: Hmmm.

Tumble outta bed

And a' stumble to the kitchen

Pour myself a cup of ambition

Yawn and stretch and try to come to life

Jumpin' in the shower

And the blood starts pumpin'

Out on the streets

The traffic starts jumpin'

And folks like me on the job from 9 to 5

Workin' 9 to 5

What a way to make a livin'

Barely gettin' by

It's all takin'

And no givin'

They just use your mind

And they never give you credit

It's enough to drive you

Crazy if you let it

9 to 5, for service and devotion

You would think that I

Would deserve a fair promotion

Want to move ahead

But the boss won't seem to let me in

I swear sometimes that man is out to get me

Mmmmm...

They let your dream

Just a' watch 'em shatter

You're just a step

On the boss man's a' ladder

But you got dream he'll never take away

On the same boat

With a lot of your friends

Waitin' for the day

Your ship'll come in

And the tide's gonna turn

An' it's all gonna roll you away

Workin' 9 to 5

What a way to make a livin'

Barely gettin' by

It's all takin'

And no givin'

They just use your mind

And you never get the credit

It's enough to drive you

Crazy if you let it

9 to 5, yeah, they got you where they want you

There's a better life

And you think that I would daunt you

It's a rich man's game

No matter what they call it

And you spend your life

Puttin money in his wallet

Workin' 9 to 5

Oh, What a way to make a livin'

Barely gettin' by

It's all takin'

And no givin'

They just use you mind

And they never give you credit

It's enough to drive you

Crazy if you let it

9 to 5, yeah, they got you where they want you

There's a better life

And you dream about it, don't you

It's a rich man's game

No matter what they call it

And you spend your life

Puttin money in his wallet

9 to 5

Dolly Parton

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Chapter Two: Where boys are prodded and shouting becomes an art

On a discernible perfectly _normal_ morning, on a perfectly _normal_ day, in the quite town of Surrey, in Little Whinging, in the perfectly _normal_ street named Privet Drive, the door of the absolutely _normal_ house number 4, the front door opened.

All like a perfectly _normal_ day.

But, this was not a normal day, so from there, events did not _quite_ go, as a _normal_ day would propose.

A loud shriek split the air, and, as liable on such a quite _normal_ street, lace curtains twitched, occupants looking at the drama from the private of their homes.

"VERNON! _VERNON! Come here!_"

A quick shuffling was heard from inside, and a large bearing man came into view beside the horse-faced woman holding two empty milk bottles at the door.

"Petunia dear, what is it-"

"_Can't you see what it is!_"

Peering down, Vernon Dursley stood rooted to the ground, staring in shock at the bundle on his doorstep.

"Well? Don't just _stare_ at it! _Do_ something!"

Looking quickly around, fugitively, he stooped to pick up the bundle, shuffling back inside.

"Don't take it inside! Get rid of it!" she shrieked, pointing her finger outside to the bin.

"Petunia dear, you're making a scene."

At this, she glanced around, and seeing the curtains twitching, gathered herself quickly, straightened her dress and patted down her hair. Then, bending down to deposit the empty milk bottles she had miraculously kept hold of, she swept inside behind her husband, closing the door with a final _thud_.

Despite the resonate sound, curtains all down the street were ruffled as if by a permanent breeze for the next ten minutes hence.

Inside, a lot more was going on. The small bundle was sending up a squall, set off by all of the shouting and the loud wails coming from the rooms upstairs. Vernon was pacing the room, wringing his hands, his face a dark shade of red. His wife was scowling while she sat on the sofa, the small bundle in the middle of the coffee table, as if neither of them wanted to admit it was there. Forget all about it and the troubles it proposed.

"Oh shut that thing up! Petunia! Go quiet Dudley!"

She hurried up to the stairs, nearly tripping in her angry haste to reach her child. She swept down the small hall to the bedroom door from where the sounds were emitting. Pushing the door forward, she strode inside, where she bent over the small bed and sat next to the chubby boy inside, rocking him uncomfortably for a minute.

Mr Dursley, downstairs in the living room continued his frantic pacing, increasingly loosing control with each minute. His fist tightened over a scrunched up letter in his hand. Finally though, he lost his patience with waiting by himself.

"Come back in here woman! Bring Dudley if you must but come in here!" his voice rang through into the room, his tone conveying his immense anger. Her shrill voice screamed back at him,

"I'm not subjecting my baby boy to that, that, that – _thing_ over there!"

Even so, she placed the boy back into the bed, and handed him a stuffed bear. But as he chucked it away, she quickly stopped him from crying out by returning it and a putting small chocolate bar in his hand. He smiled happily, and as she left the room, he threw his toy after her, bringing the melting sweet bar in his hand to his mouth.

A voice roared for her just as she entered the room, "Petunia!"

As she stormed once again down the stairs, a few of which creaked, she glowered, not noticing the small form above her, peering down at her through the banisters. When she entered the room, still scowling, he grunted at her and continued his pacing. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the situation, and waited impatiently, tapping her foot, for her husband.

"Well?"

He didn't interrupt his pacing for her.

"_Well?_"

"Well what woman? Can't you see that I'm thinking?"

"_Thinking_? _Thinking!_? About _what_? What do you need to _think_ about! Get that thing out!" her shrill voice resonated around the room, causing the small boy in the doorway to wince. Quietly, he crept forward to the table to see what was in the bundle.

"_Vernon!_"

Her voice had hit the pitch that the glass windows shook slightly. Not noticeably, but nevertheless, shook.

The bundle quietened with a hiccuped sob and as light filtered onto the wide green eyes peeking out from underneath the cloth, which was peeling back, what was wrapped in the bundle stared up.

"_What_?"

"_Get that **thing** out of my house_!"

The cloth was peeled back further, sticky hands leaving chocolate fingerprints on the pale cloth as Dudley Dursley peered at the little boy inside it.

"It's not _my_ responsibility-"

Grinning, he had a glint in his eye, and started poking the boy in the side. The bundle started to squirm away from the insistent fingers, which had viscously started to prod him deeply in the side. His voice started to wail quietly as felt the fingers digging into his side rather maliciously. The two adults across the room did not notice, as their argument became more heated.

"_Are you suggesting that it's **mine**_?"

"_I read that bloody letter! Who else could it mean! It's your bloody abnormal sister freak and your bloody abnormal sister's husband and **your** bloody sister's son! It's **your** fault!_"

His voice had raised to a roar, and he faced his wife, his hand clenched at his sides, hers pointing and gesturing at where the bundle lay upon the table as she shrieked.

"_Get. It. **Out**. Of. My. House!"_

The windows were visibly shaking now, Mrs Dursleys voice hitting that note again, her gesturing were becoming frantic as she insisted upon her point, her husband facing her, red in the face and visibly restraining himself from moving, imminent from the violent shaking of his body.

She turned to glance at the bundle, and let out a second scream at the image of her darling boy coming into contact with the _thing_ on the table.

"_Dudley_!"

Her voice had hit new notes of resonance, the glass quaking in their sitting room windows.

Vernon swivelled round, his eyes deepening and becoming smaller in his face as the narrowed into black dots at what he saw.

"**Dudley**. Get away from there _now_!"

The boy scurried to the door and out of the room, with two sets of eyes following him.

"Well dear, I think that that covers it. No question at all. Can't have him contaminating our Dudley now can we?"

She humphed and followed her boy upstairs to his room, without even a glance to the unwrapped bundle on the table.

With an untoward glare at the boy, now playing with the edges of its blanket, happy now that the voices had quietened, he snorted. Gathering up the white envelope near the table, which had drifted down as Dudley drew back the cloth covering the boy, he turned his back on the boy, uncaring that no one would be watching him so that no harm befell him.

Storming into the kitchen, he watched, satisfied with the fire consuming the pale white paper, words burning crisply, scattering the fine almost black ash over the hob. He stared at it till the entire sheet was consumed, then added the envelope, leaning forward to prod its entire over the flame and settling down again to watch.

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Thank you anyone who actually read this, and I promise another chapter as long as people review this one first.

And – as I've just started off this story – any comments on how you think it should go from here is fine by me. It will be much appreciated, and I will try to give credit to those who have helped.

As long as you take into consideration the summary, and follow the basic outline of the actual book – it should be fine with me, and I will take any ideas any of u tell me about into account.

Help me out! I have a muse to feed after all. ^I thought u had forgotten me.^ Not a chance. Now you have to tell me what u were talking about in the last chapter!

Mwhahahaha!


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